On Behalf of His Prudence
by ayafangirl
Summary: Watson is far too prudish for Holmes' liking, but Adler has a wonderful idea to fix all that...A lovely Holmes/Watson/Adler tale for you all. Indeed, it's PWP. Featuring virgin!Watson and dom!Holmes.


_A/N: Ah...about this...where do I begin? This takes place somewhere around the first movie, for starters. At the request of my friend (a huge Holmes/Adler shipper), I wrote this three-way for the hell of it but was too ashamed to post it. But I haven't updated a new story in so long. Yes, it is porn without plot. And yes, it's OOC for Watson to be an innocent virgin. But I regret nothing, it was fun. So, if I haven't scared you off yet, then do enjoy! And just in case it isn't clear, the entire tone is a bit mocking; it's meant to be funny XP_

Disclaimer: If I really owned Sherlock Holmes or any of these actors, they would have done this already...

On Behalf of His Prudence

Night had only recently fallen, a dark, damp, foggy blanket over London as Sherlock Holmes sat, pensive and pipe-in-mouth one late September evening. His dark brown eyes were glittering in the light of the gas lamps outside, and his attention was only drawn from the street he had been watching so intently when a pale hand ran through his hair and the gentle coo of a woman's voice reached his ears.

"Sherlock, he'll be home soon. I'm afraid that on your own, you make a rather unpleasant host."

The consulting detective turned to smile lopsidedly at Irene Adler. "You will forgive me. It is unlike my Mother Hen to be out so late, and I do so worry for him."

She only sighed in response, sitting down in the chair across from him (Dr. Watson's chair) and sipping the soda and brandy he had served to her upon arrival. She enjoyed visiting the love of her life when she knew his less-than inviting flat mate and best friend was out with his fiancée, but this was the first night in some time that Holmes had been more brooding than romantic.

She didn't mind entirely; she had fallen in love with the man for his mind, and watching it work always captivated her. But as she brushed dark strands of curly hair out of her face, she wondered exactly _what _he was thinking about on this particular evening. Despite his obvious distraction with the fact that Watson had stayed out a bit later than usual, his brilliant brain could have him suspended anywhere in the world at that moment.

He could, she thought with a tender smile, be scrutinizing the theories of chemistry and elemental bonding, the likes of which he was slowly working to tweak and disprove. He could also be considering the depth and beauty of musical chords; she recalled how last time she had spent a few hours over, he had been strumming different chords off his Stradivarius and showing her how different notes echoed at frequencies which caused subtle changes in the vibration of a wooden plank he had rested the end of his instrument against. He could even be far off, in some wild and untamed country, like India, or on the southernmost tip of the African continent, mentally idling through his vast knowledge of the types of poisons used in that area.

Finally, he spoke. It was more to himself than to her.

"For a man as intelligent, dissimilating, and strong-willed as himself, I find only three complete certainties to Watson."

She smiled tightly for lack of any other muscle movement. This whole time, _that _was what he had been meditating over? His prude of a roommate? She couldn't help but feel some annoyance and disappointment, but as always, a hint of curiosity as well. "And what are those three certainties?" she asked indulgently.

"One," he answered, turning to her and smiling as wreaths of grey smoke rose from his pipe and spread lazily around his face, "is that he truly is the epitome of propriety. And two, that he desperately needs release; no man can suffer so long without any form of indulgence. Finally, I'm sure that by now you've observed how desperately in love with me he is."

Well. Someone had been thinking beyond the acceptable friendly details of his supposed 'Mother Hen.'

"Yes, Sherlock," she spoke slowly and guardedly, "I suppose that if you look at him in the light of indulgence, he is very wary. But I don't know if I would look into his—well, let's be blunt, shall we?—his sex life. That's his own business. And obviously I was able to see that he loves you more than the woman whose hand he will soon have in marriage."

He chuckled lightly. "I suppose I am a bit eerie, breeching this topic to you like some sort of invert. You must forgive me; it has been troubling me for some time. I worry for his mental health. If in any way I could relieve him from the societal pressure and its adverse effects on his mind, surely I would."

"If that's the case, then why don't you?" she queried, an idea forming in her unfathomably wily mind, and a smirk tugging at the corners of her pink lips. She was met with a curious look, and elaborated. "Relieve him of that stress you seem to fear is going to consume him. You can release all the tension in his lovely body."

He caught her drift remarkably fast, and she was pleasantly surprised when the Great Detective Sherlock Holmes blushed at the thought.

"Me…and Watson?" he asked, but somehow he seemed to like the way it tasted on his lips to say their names together.

"Oh, Sherlock. Would you really exclude me so willingly for a man?" she pouted.

But the positively nefarious smile he cast her assured her otherwise. As if God Himself willed the wrongful acts the two were conjuring in their twisted minds, the rattling of a hansom's wheels outside told them that the good doctor had returned home to Baker Street. The messy-haired man looked down at the street and then back at the beauty sitting across from him. "Perhaps you should let me warm him up. I'm not certain that he won't blanch at my actions alone."

She nodded and drifted into another room as the sound of the doctor's ascending footsteps on the stairs met Holmes' ears.

"Good evening, Watson," he spoke as the blue-eyed man entered the sitting room moments later, removing his hat and jacket. He might be extremely excited for his and Adler's plans, but there was still the annoyance with Watson's lateness. "I thought the show ended at eleven o'clock."

"Forgive me, Holmes," he answered, apparently not noticing the intense look the detective was giving him. "At the theatre an elder woman was experiencing some chest pain as Mary and I were leaving. I stayed to see what her symptoms were, and then at Mary's leave, went with her in a hansom to the hospital to be sure she was alright."

As per usual, Watson's explanation was as noble and as upstanding as his own character. The brown-eyed man rose as the answer was given, and stood right before his friend, who had turned from the coat rack at started slightly. "Holmes?"

_Do not hesitate. Now._ "Watson, may I ask you something else?" he asked, moving forward slowly to close the gap between himself and the doctor. In response, the taller man took a step back.

"W-what are you—?"

"Did you truly intend to marry before telling me the truth—that you are in fact in love with me?"

Watson blushed at this and Holmes waited patiently, standing uncomfortably close but observing his friend's every move like a hungry snake. "That I…Holmes…" his face became troubled, and then defeated, and his eyes dropped to the floor. "So then you knew." It was barely a whisper.

"Yes." His answer seemed to cut through the silence of the room harshly. "But…you don't intend to pursue your feelings, since you've found someone else. Before you do marry, however," he continued, watching hopefully as cobalt orbs slowly and uncertainly made their way back up to his face, "I'm willing to do something for you on behalf of your feelings. And of course, of your prudence."

"My prudence?" he echoed curiously.

Holmes took advantage of his moment and again closed the space between them, leaning up and pressing his lips flush against Watson's. The doctor let out a squeak of surprise and his body tensed. He tried to step back once again, but the detective grabbed his upper arms a bit roughly and felt a wave of lust sweep through him. Watson was beyond adorable with his fierce abstinence…he was absolutely perfect. And he _would _have him.

Dragging his mouth up roughly, he breathed against his flat mate's cheek. "Don't be afraid. I want to bring you pleasure."

"I…I don't understand," he gasped as one hand came down to run over his hipbone and then dragged up over his flat torso and broad chest. He let out another pathetic squeak in response to this as the air around them became electric.

"All you ever do is hold back," the brown-eyed man muttered gruffly. "Have you ever even been with a woman? How long have you been seeing Mary? And what have you done with her? Watson, you are a man and yet you hold yourself back as though you're still in school with authoritative old professors breathing down your neck."

"I…don't understand what…you mean." He responded breathily as the shorter man succeeded in unbuttoning his waistcoat and then his dress shirt and ran rough fingers over his pale skin.

"Surely you think dirty thoughts sometimes? Surely you've thought about kissing me before since you love me so? Surely you realize that you never take risks and live the ideal life of the proper Victorian man. Yet I know that true passion lies within you, Watson. I want to let it out. I want to see that side of you that you never let out. I want to make you moan…"

He could hold back no more. Again, the dark-haired man kissed the doctor, pressing his body against the blue-eyed man's and grinning as he clumsily reached out to pull Holmes against him and kissed back ardently. Their lips battled and suddenly the detective's slick tongue was forcing its way into the doctor's mouth and they were both moaning lightly, bodies crushed together and tongues exploring, probing, hot and wet and almost choking.

In a snap, the good Watson pulled himself together and pushed his dearest friend away, cheeks a dark pink shade. "No! Holmes what were you thinking? We can't—"

Sighing, he placed a finger to his frazzled roommate's lips and tried to stifle his desire to force the blue-eyed man to the floor and take him completely. "Answer me honestly, for the love of the Queen. Did you enjoy that?"

Twin blue orbs that were as dark as an ocean in the midst of a tempest looked at him in terror. But he was in fact an honest man, and he nodded against the brilliant man's lips. "I did," he answered so quietly that the detective had to strain to hear him. But these words were a relief so he smiled tenderly, the beautiful and caring side of him that only Watson knew showing.

"Good thing, old chap," he whispered right back, hand moving to stroke the veteran's cheek gently. "So do you want me to show you more pleasure?"

There was an even longer pause this time, and Watson's cheeks were stained pink, the color spreading up his temples and as far back as his ears. But again, his response was honest despite his bashful expression. "P…please, Holmes. If you don't...I just…I want…more."

He was delicious. And without holding back, Holmes slid his powerful arms down and held him around the waist, beginning to back him to the bedroom. Kissing passionately and wetly all the way, the doctor allowed himself to be led to the bed and pushed down on its edge into a sitting position.

Within mere moments, the dark-haired man had removed the taller man's waistcoat and shirt completely, casting them aside and onto the floor. He smiled hungrily at the sight of the doctor's flawless skin, pale as a woman's and with a body more slender than he would have guessed. Watson watched him nervously the entire time, wide eyes following each movement of his hand and flicker of his eyes. With a sensual slowness to rival the whores of Whitechapel (or so he prided himself), Holmes crawled to sit beside his companion and gently pushed him down, so he lay across the bed on his back.

Half-lying across him and supporting himself with one arm, he moved again to kiss the doctor and heat seemed to build between them by the second. After a few minutes of such new and tantalizing attention, Watson seemed to cast off some of his shyness and whined quietly as Holmes kissed his neck, his ears, his collar bone and his shoulders. He hissed as the detective's teeth came down where his neck and chest met, but his own arms only pulled his friend closer, and after the nips turned to earnest sucking, he began to tear at Holmes own shirt in an effort to remove it as quickly as possible and to get at the lean, tan body he knew was waiting to be touched underneath. He had always known Holmes was very well built, and even attractive. He had seen him without a shirt on more times than he could count. But suddenly the sight sent a rush of blood to his lower regions, and he wanted to see more…to taste more of that dark, muscular body and watch it move over him…sinews pulsing with hot blood, dark hair on his chest and leading down to his pant line, trim waist and broad, glistening back...

"I think now I can trust that your presence will only be appreciated, Irene." Holmes murmured against the doctor's earlobe, mirth clear in his tone. "That is, of course, if you like what you see."

Below him, Watson froze, slim fingers wrapped around one of the buttons of the detective's shirt. "Ire…_her_? Holmes!"

"Oh, trust me, I more than like what I see. I've been dying for a taste since you began."

Irene Adler had suddenly materialized beside the bed, and cast a lust-filled look from her lover to the disheveled veteran. "So then you'll allow me to join in?"

"Irene, I thought you'd never ask. Please do."

"Wait—" Watson's objection was cut off by a fierce kiss from Holmes as she too sat on the bed, marveling at the sharp obtrusion of the doctor's hipbones from above his pant line. "Mnngg…what is she…? Hol-Holmes!"

"I didn't want to ask you because you'd say no. But Irene and I decided to do this to you—_for_ you—together." He responded to the incomplete question, having some difficulty forming words around the throbbing jugular he was slowly bruising with lips and teeth.

"Why would I let you have all the fun?" the pink-clad criminal teased in a sing-song voice. "You two have enough time to flirt on cases and whilst living together. I think I deserve of taste of what Sherlock has been brooding over for years as well, don't you, Doctor?"

Years of hard feelings and hatred—even of rivalry— seemed cloudy in the room so warm and thick with desire. Though Watson tried to cast her a glare, he found all he could really do was whimper softly as her nimble fingers tore his belt from his waist and then opened his flies, easily tugging the offensive clothing from his sparse frame.

If he did want to argue to the arrangements further, Holmes was determined to stop him from doing so, and had shifted to give Irene free reign of his body and held the doctor's face tightly in his hands, kissing him breathless and moaning loudly as if encouraging his hesitant friend to do the same.

In a way, Irene's help was appreciated to accomplish this task, for Watson too was unable to restrain himself from a few high-pitched whimpers as her hot, plump lips fell on one dusky nipple, teasing it slightly. He could feel the smirk on her lips and visualized it in his mind. It should make him angry, but he found he didn't want her ministrations to stop…this attention was making him dizzy but he _loved _it.

Still, a restless and over-active mind was a contagious thing, and years of living with Holmes had giving him just that. "W-why are—mm… you d-d-_ohhh_-doing this?"

"Because you desperately need it, old boy," the detective answered briskly. His mouth was against the left ear of the panting man, and his strong hands were around his wrists, since he had begun to fight a bit upon the woman's entrance. His voice was husky, speaking of a restraint that he couldn't maintain forever. This should have terrified the blue-eyed man, but he only found it tantalizing. Holmes had never sounded so _sexy_.

"It's true; you really do need to give into things like this," she agreed, sliding her body down lower, content with the angry red scratch marks her long nails left on his once-flawless chest, and nipping his hipbone.

"Well-put, Irene. Just give in, Watson." Holmes breathed, moving so that they were eye-to-eye. Deep, liquid hazel bore down onto fear-filled sapphire.

"Give in?" he whispered.

Holmes' thick, calloused thumbs were stroking his the soft underside of his wrists.

Irene was making small circles with her tongue just below his navel.

"Give in," the messy-haired man ordered. "Don't be ashamed of pleasure. Embrace it. Scream if you want; ask for more if you want—"

"That's what we're trying to get you to do in the first place," she piped, her hot breath washing over his skin and causing it to break out in goose bumps.

"I do want more," he admitted, softly.

And yet Holmes grinned at him as though it were actually a good thing. And he could hear Irene's purr of satisfaction. Like a cat, that woman was…

The game picked up very suddenly, and at first, when he felt the dark-haired woman's hand slide around his arousal, he wanted to pull away and order her to stop (he couldn't even remember becoming hard). Instead, he tilted his head back and whined loudly, rocking his hips forward into her palm. The noises he began making only increased the lust Holmes had been struggling to keep at bay, and his nails and teeth began to draw blood from their fervor. Watson didn't seem to mind this at all.

Irene did eventually take notice, and knowing the detective as well as she did, took the hint. "Perhaps it's time we switch positions, Sherlock."

His damp lips curved upwards. "Yes…quite." He moved up, off of the doctor who clung and pulled him back.

"Holmes?" Obviously he was uncomfortable with the detective leaving him. His fingers tightened around Holmes' unbuttoned shirt.

"Shhh," he whispered in response, kissing the blue-eyed man sweetly. "I'll be near you. And I'll make sure you know it too." With that, he pulled away to face the grinning temptress, who kissed him deeply and ran a hand through his messy hair. "What a shame, Irene, you look so proper and clean." In a swift motion, he pulled the formal jacket that matched her pink dress open, smiling wickedly as buttons flew everywhere. "I'll leave the rest to Watson," he hissed against her ear, and moved to settle himself between the doctor's legs, shrugging his own shirt off casually, freeing his muscular arms and toned chest, slightly damp with perspiration and with a few claw-marks from the frantic doctor.

The short-haired man shifted as well to sit up on his elbows, watching them wearily. "You?" he asked in shock as she swooped down to taste his swollen lips.

"Who else?" she asked, planting a kiss on his forehead and shoving him back down.

The detective was having an excellent time nibbling at the taller man's thighs, which jerked and twitched in agitation. Finally, he trailed his tongue up one leg slowly, until he could taste the base of the doctor's shaft. Watson's head jerked back and he screamed in unrestrained pleasure.

"Mm, finally, he gets vocal," the light-eyed woman muttered between kisses.

"Indeed. It's a good thing I gave you that drug to slip to Gladstone before we began this—he wouldn't take well to his master being buggered." Holmes laughed lightly, sucking his own index finger.

"Haaah…more…wait, you poisoned my dog?"

"_Our_ dog. And it was a harmless anesthetic."

"It's true, Doctor. The poor beast will be fine, I assure you."

"Oh God. You're as bad as him." Watson groaned as a terrible realization hit: Irene Adler was a female version of Sherlock Holmes. His fate truly was sealed then. As if to accentuate this terror and give tangible reason for it, he was suddenly assaulted by the indecent feeling of a slick finger teasing his entrance. Before he could voice protest, Holmes had slid it inside of him.

"God!"

"God won't hear you now, sinner," She teased, nipping his ear as the great detective fingered his beloved companion, adding a second, then third finger inside of him.

Meanwhile, Holmes had slid away from their voices into a bliss only such a dominant personality could grasp. The tight heat the was pressing against his fingers sent waves of excitement down his waist, blood settling in lower places. He wanted _in_. To bury himself deep inside the heat and drown in ecstasy. To tear into muscle, hear his friend's moans and begs, and to send his thick release flowing into his Boswell. He looked over at Irene, who was currently kissing the doctor with fervor as his hands forced her blouse open and off her slender, white shoulders. He licked his lips at the sight; even in the midst of unspeakable acts, she was so elegant, so gorgeous. His dark eyes traveled down the doctor's slim body and, spitting into his palm and preparing himself with a grunt, he threw the blue-eyed man's legs around his waist and pushed his hips forward roughly.

No, Watson had never really though much on the side of perversion to answer Holmes' earlier question. As a doctor, he had a textbook idea of what intercourse was supposed to be like, and somewhere between that, the whores of Whitechapel, and the young male prostitutes he knew swarmed places like Holywell Street, it had always been an assumption that sodomy, a strange form of sex, had to be a pleasurable act. He had never spent time dwelling over the subject, but upon realizing he was in love with Holmes, he had wondered what it was like once or twice, vaguely and fleetingly.

In the instant that his beloved Sherlock Holmes did impale him, he was suddenly sure that every whore, homosexual, and physiology textbook author on earth was a masochist.

The doctor's hands had been fighting the strings of Irene's corset, but suddenly he clawed at the material, pulling out of her kiss to scream in pain. Responding immediately, she drew his face back to hers and kissed his cheeks gently, shushing him sweetly to soothe him. He continued to writhe, however, gasping and begging for release from the pain of being split in half.

Holmes wondered, over the contrasting symphony of Irene's cooing and Watson's screams if he _could_ stop if he wanted to. The feral desire to pound into his dear companion and get his own release as soon as he could was simply too overpowering, and his eyes glazed as his pace quickened even more, the muscles clenching around his substantial arousal and sending shocks of ecstasy to his brain. Watson was tight and hot and perfect...

"Holmes!"

He froze and again focused on both his lover and his friend, suddenly taking on a slower, more relaxed speed. _Make it last_, he reminded himself. _Enjoy it, make him enjoy it too._ They both glanced at him; light and dark blue orbs, before they returned to each other and Irene returned to her soothing (albeit dirty) whispers. Trying a new angle, he rocked into the doctor again, letting out a low moan at the sensation.

This time, as the detective's cock slammed into Watson's sweet spot, he too seemed to find some pleasure in it, gasping and arching his back into it.

"So then," the dark-haired woman breathed as his hands once again began to rip at her clothing and he successfully disrobed her upper body completely, "you're finding this worth it."

"Oh god I need to be…nng…more!"

"Need to be what, Doctor?" she pressed, licking away a trail of blood that one of Holmes' bite marks had left.

"T-taken," he gasped, head tilting back again as his hips were crushed by Holmes', their thighs ground together, and his legs spread wider to take in even more of the dark-haired man.

"Good boy," was the low giggle as he moaned wantonly. "My goodness, Sherlock. Your cute little biographer is really no more than a common whore. Listen to the way he moans like a bride when someone's inside of hi—_oh_!"

The blue-eyed man's hands found her exposed breasts, and with a flushed smirk of his own, he cupped them in his hands gently, thumbs stroking her pink nipples lightly. "Do you want me to continue?" he whispered, hips still jerking to the rhythm the brown-eyed man was absorbed in.

"Y…yah….yes," she admitted breathily.

The nod of his head was slight. So slight she almost wondered if she had imagined it, but she leaned down nonetheless to obey his beckoning, and with a miniscule tilt of his head, he brought his lips to one of her breasts, blushing furiously but with the resolve to pleasure her the same way she was pleasuring him.

Opening his mouth uncertainly, he flicked her pert nipple with his tongue, marveling at the heat of her flesh.

"Oooh,"

Dropping his head onto the doctor's stomach, Holmes looked up, panting and thrusting and smirking, to find the ever-composed Irene Adler clinging to Watson's shoulders as he slowly and sensually circled her erect nipple with the tip of his tongue. After some time, he opened his mouth wider to take the tip of her breast into his mouth and making her cry out. She threw her head back in pleasure, gasping and arching, mouth open and eyes closed.

"D-Doctor!"

Between the stiff cock ramming against his prostate repeatedly, the feeling of his virgin muscles being stretched to their limits, and the taste of warm, hard flesh in his mouth, the doctor felt still more blood pooling in his groin. He sucked from the very back of his throat, taking as much of her smooth skin into his mouth as possible. She looked lovely in the moonlight, he noted. Pale, pale skin almost translucent in the bluish glow, and the way it contrasted with her dark hair, brows and eyelashes only made her more magnificent, especially when her head tipped back and her dark lips parted so little moans could bubble out of her pretty mouth.

No, her whines of 'Doctor' didn't make his heart spasm the same way it did when Holmes moaned his name against his stomach, kissing the flesh to the left of his navel, but he still felt he had a debt he must pay to her.

Nipping her skin only made her cry louder, and while one hand began to fondle her other breast playfully, his right hand began to pull her dress still lower, past her waist…then past her thighs…

She crawled out of them and knelt beside his shoulder, looking at him with very wide eyes.

"Well, Doctor?"

"What—ah!—what about y-you?" he managed.

"Oh, god you're _so_ _tight_, chap—mmmn!"

"What about me?" she ignored Holmes' ascent towards climax.

"You're doing all…_aaall_ this for me."

"Yes," she responded, watching without embarrassment as her lover thrust in and out of the man she was conversing with as though it was a normal occurrence. If anything, she rather liked how his brow dripped with sweat, and the way he drooled as he pounded the blue-eyed man, who moaned wantonly for more and struggled to focus his thoughts enough to talk to her. "Don't worry about Sherlock and myself. This is for you, Doctor."

One trembling hand landed on her bare thigh, and her eyebrows rose as he shook his head. "I want to make you feel this good too."

With all the gentleness that came with his profession, and all the quiet but earnest passion that he was characteristic of, he slid his hand up her thigh slowly, fingertips absorbing the warm silken texture of her flesh, and then pushed lightly, urging her to spread her legs a bit.

It was a bit embarrassing for someone as composed as herself to admit, but Irene Adler was no exception to the human race when it came to arousal. As much as she would have liked to be in control of her body, watching the little display between the two men had sent blood rushing to her loins, and as his fingers found her damp, sticky entrance, she gasped.

It was almost comical how Watson looked equally as surprised.

"You're wet."

"You're attractive to look at while you're being claimed."

With a chuckle signifying that her response was good enough, he teased the swollen lips of her womanhood lightly before tentatively slipping his index finger up, into her.

"Shit, you're a tease," she gasped, uninhibited American mouth making his eyes widen. "I'm no virgin, Doctor, just do something already!"

There was no hesitation this time as he pushed one finger deep inside of her, then added a second. Her delicate fingers gripped the sheets on either side of Watson's head tightly and her hips rocked down eagerly, pressure from his gentle touch electrifying the nerve endings deep inside of her.

Before long the three of them had a rhythm of their own: Holmes gasping and moaning with his head dropped on Watson's stomach as he rubbed the doctor's inner muscles raw with his thick cock, the blue-eyed man writhing below him and whining (screaming whenever Holmes angled his thrusts to hit his prostate) and now three fingers-deep in Irene's wet heat as her hips rose and fell, effectively fucking herself on his hand whilst her hair fell out of its usual style and wisps of chestnut locks came down to frame her face.

Gasps and moans and the occasional scream echoed in the dark room (downstairs, Mrs. Hudson was a rather delicate shade of green although Holmes and Irene could care less and this thought never occurred to the oblivious Watson).

Feeling the rapid fluttering of a heartbeat coming from the doctor, the detective grinned as he neared his pinnacle of bliss, reaching between his companion's legs to stroke his stiff member in time to his thrusts.

"H-H-Holmes!"

"Say it again for me, Watson. I couldn't quite here you," he answered with a grunt and a wicked grin. His grip was mercilessly tight and his jerking movements quick as pre-cum leaked copiously from the head of his cock.

"_Holmes_!" He cried out shrilly, entire body convulsing as his seed exploded hot and plentiful into the detective's awaiting hand and over his own stomach.

His muscles clamped around the brown-eyed man's own member almost painfully. Moaning lowly, he felt his own release seize him, and thrust all the way into his companion, filling him with his essence before pulling out to kiss his shuddering hipbone sweetly.

"You beat me," Irene whispered as she reached her own finishing point. Her eyes flittered adoringly to Holmes', and then locked on Watson's challengingly. Blushing madly, he dared to hold her gaze as he jerked his fingers deep up, rubbing her clitoris lightly with his thumb between thrusts and carrying her to bliss. "Ooohh…" she whined lowly, wet heat pouring out of her and running down Watson's palm before dripping onto the sheets.

Moments passed between the three of them. There seemed to be precious little to do save for regaining their breaths, and planting a few gentle kisses on the other two. Not to the surprise of the woman or the doctor, Holmes was the first to recover.

Sitting up and stretching, he smiled at the limp figure of his once prideful friend. "So old chap, did you enjoy your first orgasm?" he asked conversationally.

"I can't believe you two did that," he answered, turning red again and trying to curl into himself. The light-eyed woman would have none of that, and she pushed his shoulders down against the mattress, forcing their eyes to meet.

"Oh, don't be so bashful. Just admit that it was fun," she taunted, but there was less malice than usual in her smile.

He nodded slowly, very slowly, sitting up tentatively. "I won't deny that I liked it," he answered guardedly. "And there's no one else I would rather have lost it to, I suppose," his eyes were on the figure of Holmes, who looked like a painting one might find of a god with his muscular body glistening lightly and his eyes warm yet mysterious at the same time.

"What about your darling Mary?" Irene asked smiling wickedly.

"Now, now, none of that," the detective cut off his friend's rebuttal. "After all, 'Mary' is a safety word here, and it might kill the mood, would you not agree?"

"Ah, insightful as always, Sherlock," she answered, urging him forward for a quick kiss.

"What mood?" Watson questioned, wincing in his attempt to move much and collapsing back onto the bed. "We're done here, surely we may speak freely."

"Done?" Holmes asked.

"Done?" Irene echoed as though the word were foreign to her.

"No, my dear, dear, _silly_ Watson," the detective responded, leaning close to the doctor so their lips almost touched, "we are far from done." With that, he pressed his lips against the veteran's, and he in turn cried out in shock.

"You two get all the fun," she sighed theatrically, and with that, the wild-haired man slung an arm around her waist while lowering his lips to the hollow of the doctor's throat.

"Irene," he rasped between bites of flesh, "we're going to need some form of bondage,"

"Of course," was her brisk reply as she rose and began to dig through the piles of clothes that had been flung to the floor haphazardly. "I'll use your suspenders. Or perhaps my undergarments for fun…"

"B-bondage…?"

"Trust me," Holmes answered with a wink. "It's like what we just did. Only better."

The muggy night gave way to tremors of noise and movement and heat on Baker Street for the rest of the night. Three bodies became one as sweat dripped like nectar from a sweet flower, and breathless gasps became wanton moans and eventually desperate cries as the summit of pleasure was reached again, and again, and again.

It was late morning by the time Watson awoke. He could tell by the intensity of the light that was in his eyes, and he wished he could roll over and block out the smog-covered town with its bustling streets and depraved common folk and pretentious noble folk. Wished he could close his eyes and in a snap return to the dark bliss of sleep and dreams that had so willingly accepted him only a few hours ago.

But it was impossible to move out of the light of day, for Holmes held him in place on one side, and he could feel Irene holding him close on his other side. The suspenders that remained tangled around his red wrists also didn't offer much of a way to escape.

The detective grumbled something inarticulate in his sleep, throat vibrating against the doctor's head, as it was buried in the crook of his neck. With his half-lidded eyes, the veteran was able to count at least four love bites on that neck and the shoulder he rested upon. He wondered vaguely what he looked like himself.

Upon hearing the brown-eyed man, the temptress on his other side sighed peacefully. The blue-eyed man noted for the first time that while both of his 'attackers' had wrapped an arm around his waist when they finally collapsed from exhaustion, their fingers interlaced over his abdomen. Very in sync, those two were, he though sleepily. He also wondered fleetingly where those silk scarves around the woman's wrists had come from.

Hell, that was the least of his concerns. _What in God's name did I _do_ last night?_

For the briefest of moments, he wondered if he should feel ashamed or scared.

He looked at Holmes.

He looked at Irene.

"Oh, what the hell?" he asked out loud.

And then, trying to escape the harsh light by burrowing further into Holmes' neck, he too fell back asleep, amidst his two lovers. Or so they had been. Sex, Watson had learned, was really something he knew absolutely nothing about. Though he would never voice his interest, he felt he still had a lot of learning to do

He wondered when they could start.

_Haha I know that was so horrible; it was my first threesome ever written XD Hope you enjoyed; PLEASE REVIEW! let me know what you think! :)_


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